


Foolproof Lovesick Scheme

by glitteringvoid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Insomnia, Jealous Draco Malfoy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Party Games, Pining Draco Malfoy, Protective Draco Malfoy, Scheming, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteringvoid/pseuds/glitteringvoid
Summary: It’s true what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. It hurts worse than the Cruciatus and all one gets for their pain is even more of it, a yearning for something long lost to them. Draco only made it a week before deciding that life without Harry is not worth living.Therefore, in the interest of self-preservation, there is only one thing Draco can do: coax Harry, by all means necessary, to give their relationship another chance. As limited as it was, it was better than this constant pain tugging at his soul, preying on him in moments of carelessness.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 217





	Foolproof Lovesick Scheme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ana_iliad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana_iliad/gifts).



> Jay, finally, as promised and announced ages ago, your fic! I have been agonising over what to say in this note for _days_ now, and decided that I made you wait long enough. Hope you like it!  
> I thought a lot about what to say, how to tell you how immensly grateful I am that we are friends, how happy I am to know you and how much our friendship means to me. I still don't know, it all feels woefully insufficient. I just have to trust that you know, or that this fic shows you what I apparently can't say.  
> Thank you for being my friend, belated happy birthday and may you have a wonderful year. 
> 
> Also, a huge Thank you at Lynn, for being my beta reader and making this fic so much better!

This is ridiculous. Draco, the entire situation, how fast his heart is beating. It’s a reasonable enough request, not at all Draco’s fault, and it’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before. And yet here he stands, the floor cold under his feet, wearing only his pyjamas, and terrified of opening the curtain. Embarrassing, Malfoy.

Harry likely won’t even be here, his insomnia getting the better of him and hounding him through the halls. Draco could just pull the curtains back and crawl in, no one ever needs to know if he leaves early (should be easy enough, it’s Sunday tomorrow and Weasley isn’t known for being an early riser). _Even if_ Weasley should see him sneaking out — who’s going to believe that Draco broke into his room with _Harry_ , the man who just trampled all over his heart, declaring their relationship over and done with without giving Draco the chance to protest — just to sleep in his bed?

Not that anyone knows about their mess of a relationship, of course. That could make it harder for him to convince people of how preposterous the idea is. But then, as far as anyone is aware, Harry and he can't get through a conversation without insults and one of them ending up in the Hospital Wing. That works just as well for the purpose of denying his presence. In the unlikely event that someone asks.

No, Draco is completely safe and might finally be able to sleep again for more than an hour or two, if only he could _stop shaking and open the curtain_. The bed isn’t even guarded —Weasley, the only other person supposed to be here and Harry trusting him implicitly — and the wards on the door were simple enough to evade. The only thing holding him back is his pride. Draco doesn’t want to admit (to Harry or himself) that he can’t even _sleep_ anymore without Harry to hold him, that he is just _that_ pathetic.

But Draco is also really tired. Hasn’t slept properly in weeks and Harry owes him that much, at least. Who does he think he is, allowing Draco to believe he would be there to keep the bad dreams away, slowly leading Draco to depend on him for his sleep? (Draco is aware this isn’t entirely fair, but the git just left, and he is _tired_ and he just wants to be cuddled to sleep again — is that too much to ask?)

Right, Draco has had quite enough of this. Harry’s taken plenty from him already, Draco won’t allow him to take his sleep as well.

Straightening up like he’s wearing his best and most impressive robes instead of his comfortable pyjamas, Draco assumes an air of self-important entitlement and opens the curtains.

Harry is in bed against all expectations, not asleep, but steadily watching Draco. He expected him, then. For one moment Draco allows himself to hope, to pretend they’re not broken beyond repair and Harry had been waiting for him, simply because that is how they always do things.

“I was wondering how long you’d stand there for.” Harry is smiling at him, fond, as if things really hadn’t changed. Courtesy of the late hour, Draco supposes. Things are always easier at night, when it's dark and no one can see. But he doesn’t move to make room for Draco. Doesn’t demand he come in already because it’s getting cold. Harry doesn’t want him here.

Things most definitely have changed.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure of my welcome.” Harry looks conflicted for a moment, trying to decide on the fastest way to get rid of Draco again, but he doesn't give him the chance. “I will sleep here tonight, so move over.”

Harry does not move over, doesn’t react at all for long enough that Draco considers repeating himself in case he didn't hear.

“No.” 

Draco expected to be rejected, of course he did. It doesn’t hurt less for all his foresight. Harry’s voice is firm, unmovable, that tone he uses when he doesn’t want Draco to argue with him. And usually Draco wouldn't, trusting Harry has his reason and respecting his boundaries, but he is _tired_ and _hurt_ and if Harry doesn’t like it, he can leave. He’s good at that after all, leaving Draco.

Draco shoves that thought back down. The last thing he needs right now is to contemplate the failure of their relationship.

“I wasn’t asking. Blaise warded me out of our room, and I need a place to sleep. Honestly, I didn’t think you would even be here.” Harry still doesn’t move, despite the very calm and rational explanation on Draco’s part. Draco didn’t expect he would be _this_ adamant. Foolish, in hindsight, Harry has always been stubborn on everything and anything. A formidable quality that kept him alive but also doesn’t pair well with Draco’s own stubbornness.

He’s still studying Draco, the look on Harry’s face indecipherable (and isn’t that a shock, Draco used to be able to deduce the slightest shifts in his mood from the twitches in his expression) but clearly it’s not positive. Draco doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, small and insignificant.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter! If you want me to go just say so.” Harry immediately opens his mouth and Draco's heart stops. This is it; this is where Harry tells him to leave. Not only will it force Draco to beg Blaise, _again_ , to let him in, but he’ll have also utterly humiliated himself and lost the last pathetic shreds of his dignity.

But Harry closes his mouth again, none of the dreaded words making it out. Traitorous hope flutters up in Draco’s chest.

Harry grumbles something as he finally moves aside, probably not something Draco even _wants_ to understand. He quickly climbs into the bed before Harry can change his mind.

For all his insistence on how this is fine and normal and means absolutely nothing, it seems pretty relevant once the curtains are closed behind Draco again. He’s lying next to Harry, both of them silent, both of them awkward and tense, the sound of their breathing the only thing filling the rift between them. It’s not synchronised, Draco keeps noticing, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to preserve his own rhythm or match his breath to Harry's. It’s a stupid idea, that he should be somehow _closer_ to Harry just because they inhale at the same time, but the blatant dissonance between them pains Draco more than he would like.

Despite the tension hanging over them, filled with too much breathing and unspoken words, Draco feels sleep reaching for him. It borders on a miracle, how the second he is next to Harry again he can sleep. How he feels safe, and completely disregards how easy it is for Harry to hurt him. Draco is almost grateful to the git.

* * *

Draco wants to sleep. It’s past the socially accepted time to be awake, he had a long day of avoiding Harry as well as every thought and sly remark about the prick — he more than deserves some rest. But sleep is evading him, cruelly laughing as Draco lays motionless in his bed, staring at up at the canopy and trying to think of anything but how much he misses Harry next to him.

He can suppress it well enough during the day, the deep ache demanding he do whatever necessary to get Harry back, can drown it under the noise of activity, when Draco is busy and can hardly see where he is going because of the huge piles of books and homework he carries around. But he did the work, read the books, and there is nothing left to distract him. There is only Harry. Harry, and the empty spot he abandoned.

Last night was the first night in _weeks_ that Draco actually slept, as far away from Harry as the limited space allowed, backs turned to each other and the silence heavy between them. But Draco was asleep in minutes and didn’t feel half dead once he woke to Harry’s alarm, which by recent standards is fantastic. (The bar is shockingly low lately, but since the war and the night terrors still clinging to him … well, a few hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep was a blessing Draco’s learnt to appreciate.) He also woke _alone_ though, catching a glimpse of Harry before the door was shut into his face. A rude —though clearly necessary— reminder that it was sheer necessity forcing Harry to tolerate Draco, not lingering affection.

So, with that bitter realisation in mind, Draco decides not to seek Harry out again, no matter how good the sleep is. 

That was hours ago though, when the fading daylight and the buzzing of people allowed Draco the illusion of pride and independence. But here, the darkness stripping away the comforting lies he tells himself, Draco’s faced with an ugly certainty. He’s dependent on Harry’s mercy (or indifference, though that would be even worse than mocking indulgence) if he wants to sleep.

* * *

All of Draco’s precariously built reasons crumble under Harry’s sceptic look. Draco is sure he had a good excuse, something foolproof and well-sounding, something that would allow Draco to stay without admitting his pathetic desperation. But all his carefully chosen words are blown away and he says the first thing he can think of (which is often times worse than saying nothing at all). 

“Blaise locked me out again.” It’s a lie, not obviously so because Blaise is just enough of a prick for it to believable, but still easily discovered if one cared to look. Harry doesn’t care. Instead he groans as he stands up, giving Draco an extremely wide berth, making a point of not touching him, and leaves without an explanation, slipping out into the night.

Draco stares after him, not sure what to make of this. He expected more grumbling, an argument maybe, but he never thought Harry would just get up and leave. It’s not like Harry at all to avoid a fight, after all. Apparently, Harry hates Draco so much he’d rather spend his night sequestered on some cold windowsill (Merlin knows Draco had to collect him often enough, leading Harry away from where he had fallen asleep gazing at the distance) than be in the same space with Draco.

That’s fine, totally _fine_. Draco doesn’t care.

The bed is still warm, the pillows smell like Harry and, if he closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend Harry will be back soon.

* * *

Sleeping utterly alone in a bed that smells like and feels like Harry, that should be _theirs_ by all rights, is worse than lying in his own bed not sleeping at all. Granted, Draco got some hours of sleep and the satisfaction of seeing the stubborn mule fall asleep in his coffee, but it’s a wane imitation of what Draco wants. Not that watching Harry over breakfast and wishing he could just go over and sit with him is new for Draco. In fact, it almost feels like that’s all he’s ever done, watched Harry’s life unfold and wishing for a place in it. But just as there is no place in Harry’s life for him, there is no place in Draco’s life for Harry.

It doesn’t fit the plan — loving not only a _man,_ but also someone who has no family to speak of. It doesn't matter that Harry doesn’t exactly need a well-connected family to be influential, him being _Harry Potter_ and all, which would probably be enough for his mother. But Harry would never be accepted by his father. Lucius Malfoy has always been vocal about what he expects from his son. Narrowly escaping Azkaban for a second time didn’t change that. If anything, it made him even more demanding. The family reputation is tarnished; it’s now Draco’s responsibility to marry well and polish the Malfoy-image back to its old splendour.

Why that can’t be achieved by marrying Harry, Draco doesn’t understand. But his father is busy planning and judging match after match, one less desirable than the other, and doesn't take kindly to interruptions and inane questions. Even if Draco were to suggest he somehow seduces Harry to elevate their status, his father would dismiss the idea out of principle.

Harry never understood it either; neither Lucius’ strict rejection of anything slightly different from his own ideas, nor Draco’s need to please a father that _only uses him as a pawn in his own politics_. (Yes, Harry’s exact words. They had a vicious fight over that one, neither of them particularly proud of what they’d said.)

Ultimately, that is probably what broke them. Harry never liked keeping their relationship a secret, though he saw the initial appeal in shielding the fragile bond they’d built not only from Hogwarts’ gossip mills, but _The_ _Prophet_. They never would have made it as long as they did with speculating eyes trained on them and opinions they didn’t ask for shoved in their faces. Over time though, the more serious they got, Harry was less and less content with what Draco could give him, with the constant hiding. Draco didn’t like it either, having to restrict his words and abort his touches whenever someone was around to notice, being unable to do anything but watch as half the school made advances at his oblivious boyfriend, not going on public dates, or bragging, or being obnoxiously happy. He wanted to share his _life_ with Harry. All of it, not only the parts no one could see.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Thanks to his cowardice he now has to content himself with watching Harry from afar, having him nowhere in his life. Draco tried to convince himself that it’s the best thing they could have done, that Harry deserved better anyway, that they were doomed to fail from the very first moment. But even so, Draco being selfish as he is, he only wants Harry back for himself, uncaring of the consequences it might have.

Only, Harry doesn’t look happy. Harry actually looks the opposite of happy. Draco can’t even sleep anymore and he never knew that doing the right thing could hurt so much.

* * *

Draco tried to stay away, he really did. After having an existential crisis over breakfast, he decided that some sleepless nights surely must be more tolerable than ripping open old wounds over and over again. Eventually he will pass out from exhaustion, and sooner or later, he’ll be able to sleep on his own again. He will never be over Harry. The reasonable thing to do is to suppress every part of him that _feels,_ and to walk away without looking back.

Evidently, it was a stupid idea, completely failing to consider what kind of life Draco was forging there. Even disregarding the bone-deep tiredness, life without Harry isn’t the same. Draco can do whatever he wants, as many things at once as he is physically capable of, but Harry never leaves his thoughts. He is a constant presence in Draco’s mind, hovering at the edges of his awareness, his senses attuned to him, the first person Draco wants to share news with. Staying away to protect his bruised heart didn’t change that. It only made things worse, adding longing into the conflicting crowd of his emotions. The nights spent in Harry’s bed also didn’t help, the memory taunting him and twisting the potential they had.

It’s true what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. It hurts worse than the Cruciatus and all one gets for their pain is even more of it, a yearning for something long lost to them. Draco only made it a week before deciding that life without Harry is not worth living.

Therefore, in the interest of self-preservation, there is only one thing Draco can do: coax Harry, by all means necessary, to give their relationship another chance. As limited as it was, it was better than this constant pain tugging at his soul, preying on him in moments of carelessness.

* * *

“Don’t tell me Zabini kicked you out again.” 

Draco dutifully doesn’t say it, avoiding the lie and letting Harry form his own conclusions as to why he’s here. There’s a week of silence between now and the last time he stood here, expecting Harry to let him in. And this time Draco won’t allow him to sneak out.

It’s not the most ingenious of plans, laughably plain in fact, but Draco likes to think its brilliance lies in its simplicity. Under the guise of needing a place to sleep, Draco slowly but surely will remind Harry of how well they fit together. He will be his most charming and obliging self, showing Harry what he’s missing. Harry won’t stand a chance against him, will beg Draco to forgive him for his foolish mistake, and in no time at all Draco will finally be able to breathe again.

“Fine then, you can have the bed. You should finally grow a spine though.” 

Draco tries hard not to flinch at the venom in Harry’s words. Or maybe it’s the memory of the last time Harry called him a spineless fool, spitting the words at him and leaving without giving Draco the chance to defend himself. That alone probably proves him right — there would have been ways to stop him, to make him listen if Draco really wanted to, and had a little more courage. Instead, Draco watched Harry walk away, sick to his stomach and trembling with rage.

Maybe it’s time to take Harry’s advice.

“Don’t go.” It comes out more pleading than demanding, pretty much the opposite of what he wanted to prove. Harry looks shocked regardless, wide eyes and open mouth, dangerously close to _something_. 

“I mean,” Draco clears his throat and tries again, “You don’t have to leave. This is _your_ bed, after all. We can be mature and share for one night, can’t we?” Draco carefully doesn’t mention that they’ve tried that already. Evidently Harry doesn’t have fond memories. Bringing it up would not only be painful, but also counterproductive.

Harry still doesn’t look convinced, slowly edging away, as if Draco has lost his mind. Perhaps he has, it would explain some things. Still, spontaneous revelation of insanity is no reason to steer from the plan.

“Scared, Potter?” Forget the things they’re taught in school, these words are actually magic. They work every time, like a charm, tempting Harry to throw all reason overboard and follow his most basic instincts. Luckily for Draco, those instincts dictate that he never back down from a challenge.

Draco quickly hides his triumphant smirk when Harry climbs back into the bed, glaring at Draco and taking up as much space as he physically can. Which amounts to quite a lot, as Draco had the displeasure of finding out early on. Harry tosses and turns in his sleep, hogs the blankets and is altogether a very inconsiderate bedfellow. Frankly, Harry is lucky he looks adorable, exploiting the weakness Draco has always had for him, or he would have been kicked out without hesitation.

“You wish.” 

Draco didn’t realise how much he longed to hear those words –the traditional response— until Harry says them, a challenge of his own glinting in his eyes. He doesn’t believe Draco will go through with this, now that it involves wrestling Harry for space on the tiny bed. Well, he’s wrong. He’ll have to try a lot harder if he wants to get rid of Draco.

Using the element of surprise, Draco shoves at Harry to make him topple over, laughing at his indignant squeak and claiming the space Harry so kindly vacated. Harry looks up at him in wonder, smiling softly as if he’s forgotten he wanted to scowl and was glaring just seconds ago. It’s beautiful, not at all what Draco expected and definitely belonging into a different time, back when things were still good between them. Right this moment, it feels like they can get there again.

Until Harry’s face shutters, the gentle smile falling, the lines between them drawn once more.

Of course. It was foolish to believe Draco might still be welcome, to pretend, even if just for a second. Draco can’t allow himself the indulgence, he needs to _face_ the situation if he wants to change it. And the situation, unfortunately, is that Harry despises him for caring what his father thinks and subsequently has decided to cut Draco out of his life. Draco has to be aware of this, take the pain in stride to accomplish his goal.

So, Draco doesn’t say any of the cruel things his mind lines up like weapons waiting to be fired, keeps them safely inside where they can’t hurt Harry. Draco lets Harry draw away, gives him the space he wants and ignores everything in him screaming to pull Harry back in. Instead he closes the curtains around them, lays down in the empty spot next to Harry, let’s Harry have the blanket and doesn’t start subtly tugging it over himself as well. Harry will eventually share it anyway, he always does, and Draco can’t make an annoyance out of himself. 

He wants Harry to _miss_ him, and no one misses a whinging prick who doesn’t respect boundaries.

* * *

Convincing Harry that breaking up was the worst mistake he ever made is taking longer than Draco thought it would. It’s been almost a week already, a week of consistently blaming Blaise for locking Draco out of his room, a week of struggle to keep Harry from sneaking out to spend the night wandering about, a week of tension that stubbornly refuses to fade into familiarity. This is not how Draco planned it.

By all rights, they should be back to banter and laughing by now, to that easy intimacy they had, casual touches and shared looks. But they _aren’t_ , despite Draco being charming and respectful, putting so much effort into being inoffensive that he might be forcefully resorted into Hufflepuff (which, aside from it being horribly humiliating, yellow reallyisn't his colour). And yet, Harry keeps his distance, gives Draco the cold shoulder. Lately even refusing to answer polite questions. Which is rude, but Draco doesn't reprimand him.

It’s irritating and draining, leaving Draco exhausted to the bones and itching for something, anything, to change. They can’t keep doing this, bland and cold and not even conductive. _Draco_ can’t keep doing this, biting back every word, scarily fast transforming into someone he neither knows nor likes. He’s had enough. He tried giving Harry space to reach the obvious conclusion on his own, but Harry can be incredibly dense.

So, forget about gentle nudging, presenting him with what he could have again, hoping the moron catches on soon. Draco doesn’t have the patience for it. He needs a different approach, something not even Harry can miss.

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake, could you stop acting like I’m going to assault you? It’s been long enough for you to be reasonably reassured that I’m not going to touch you.” 

Harry’s unimpressed with his outburst, not relaxing in the slightest, still poised to flee at a moment’s notice. It’s been bothering Draco since he first noticed it, the constant vigilance Harry didn’t use to wear around him, wary and distrustful. It wasn’t as obvious as his reticence, the glaring and insistence on personal space, but it grates on Draco’s nerves, abrading his composure until there’s nothing left.

“I get it, you hate me and don’t want me here, and yet here I am. Deal with it or kick me out, but stop pouting about it.” Not exactly the best way Draco could have brought up his problems with Harry’s behaviour, yelling them into his impassive face after pretending to be asleep for the last twenty minutes. Draco probably shouldn’t have brought it up at all. It might be better than being painfully polite, but it doesn’t present Harry with a person he would like to keep around.

Worse, Draco even _told_ him to throw him out — how did he think _that_ was a good idea? If he leaves now, it’s over. Truly, once and for all over. Harry won’t let him back in, no matter what excuse Draco can come up with, and Draco will be doomed to a life of knowing exactly what he wants and having lost all chance of ever having it.

“Took you long enough.” What? That is … not what Draco expected him to say.

Harry’s smirking at him, satisfied with himself and tampering down a laugh. Draco doesn’t understand what is going on. At least Harry doesn’t look like he’ll be throwing him out any time soon. “I was beginning to think you would never crack. It actually got kind of boring.”

“ _Excuse_ you? I was merely being _respectful_ and polite. _You_ are the one who behaved a fright, refusing to acknowledge me and acting like I’m some kind of predator set on eating you if you got too close. How dare you call _me_ boring?” _Boring_! Unbelievable. That’s what he gets for being inoffensive.

“ _I_ only reacted to the way _you_ were acting. Which yes, was boring beyond belief. It put me to sleep more reliable and effective than _Dreamless Sleep_.” Draco wants to be indignant, but apparently, he’s so starved for Harry just _talking_ to him that he soaks up anything without thinking about the words themselves. It’s all too familiar, similar to the moments when Draco was desperate enough for Harry’s attention that he did the most ridiculous things. Climbed up a tree and wrote embarrassing sonnets, prodding that glorious temper of his and provoking him into flaring anger. Draco’s always relished in being the focus of Harry’s attention, but he since learnt that Harry’s love is even more intoxicating than his rage.

And _this_ , this is the kind of heady pride only Harry can make him feel. He is smiling, laughing even, because of something _Draco_ said. He basically admitted to sleeping better with Draco there, he finally looks like the man Draco loves again. _Draco_ did that.

He didn’t even have to _do_ much to make Harry happy, didn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. Quite the opposite, in fact. His meticulously maintained control finally burst and Harry’s done none of the things he dreaded would happen. It’s a relief, the lifting of a burden Draco wasn’t fully aware of, a freedom he hadn’t felt in far too long.

“I miss you.” It’s startlingly honest, barging in on the fragile moment growing between them and cutting Draco open deep down to his soul. He doesn’t know where the words came from, didn’t mean to say them and doesn’t know how to handle them, now that they are out. It’s not like he didn’t _know_ of course, he was painfully aware of his pathetic yearning, but voicing it gives the feeling an authenticity Draco was not prepared for.

Neither was Harry, smile fading from his face and overcome with a sudden seriousness that makes Draco nervous. That expression never means anything good for him. The last time he saw it, Harry ripped his heart out and left him bleeding, taking pieces of it with him.

The expression means that Harry has been _thinking,_ and though he doesn’t necessarily like it, he reached a conclusion and is about to do the Right Thing™.

Draco can’t be rejected again. He simply cannot bear it, already couldn’t do it the first time and would certainly break if Harry were to do it again, walk away again. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut and stick to the plan? It had been going so well, why did he have to ruin it with honesty?

Harry takes a deep breath, preparing to break his heart a second time, and Draco has to stop him, can still hear what he said the last time and imagines in gruelling detail what he might say today. There’s no way he can survive this. 

“Please don’t! Harry, please, I … we can be friends, can we not? I won’t ask anything more of you, I promise. Just don’t leave!” Draco’s lost all control, watching himself in horror as words spill out of his mouth, truth after despicable truth laid open, no one stopping his pathetic begging. Someone really should stop him, _he_ should stop, but he can’t, fear taking over and festering in his mind, gripping his heart and _why is he still talking_ , why doesn’t Harry say anything, this is — 

“Draco, stop!”

He stops, cuts whatever word he was saying in half. Finally. Blissful silence. Draco’s most pitiable worries hanging heavy around them. Harry still hasn't said anything, just keeps _looking_ at him. This is it, then. Harry is going to grind the remaining pieces of his heart into dust and Draco is powerless to stop him. 

“Draco …” 

Draco doesn't stand a chance of deciphering all the feelings contained in the way Harry says his name, too overwhelmed by his own feelings, by the anticipation of heartache, by the fact that Harry called him by his first name.

“I won't leave you again.” 

The words don't register at first, Draco too stumped to properly process them, letting them sink in slowly. It's astonishing how effective they are once he finally _does_ understand them.

Harry is staying. He promised. Harry doesn't break his promises; thus, he'll stay.

Draco doesn't think about the capacity in which Harry will stay, doesn't dwell on the amount of dignity the promise cost him. Just lets the words wash away his panic. 

Harry is going to stay. The rest he can worry about later.

* * *

They never stop blaming Blaise for them sharing Harry's bed. That is the official story, what Draco tells Harry with a little smile and what Harry long since stopped believing. It's not necessary anymore, both of them silently acknowledging that sleeping together is better than sleeping apart. They don't talk about it, don't label it and they certainly don't tell anyone, but every night without fail, Draco sneaks into the room Harry shares with Weasley, hidden under Harry's cloak to avoid anyone seeing him. They would surely get the wrong impression and Draco doesn't want to have to explain that he and Harry are _not_ dating, despite what it looks like, that really, most of their time is spend sleeping or talking about whatever is on their minds, trivial things like the latest potions essay and less trivial things like war and trauma and nightmares.

Draco’s missed this, having someone to talk to who _understands_ , who shares an astonishing amount of his experiences and is willing to just listen to him rant for ages while also making sure he doesn't get lost in his own thoughts. He’s missed Harry specifically being that someone. It's not like all their issues are simply resolved by talking about them, but they’re certainly easier to bear after being shared. 

Still, Draco was a fool to think they could avoid the nightmares completely. 

Shamefully, it took him too long to realise what’s going on, discarding Harry's wild tossing as nothing out of the ordinary for him. Somewhat annoying when Draco’s trying to sleep but nothing to worry about. 

He was wrong.

It was the muffled scream that finally caught Draco's attention, making him sit up and listen. Harry’s whimpering next to him, pressing his face into the pillow and twisting even more than he usually does. He’s having a nightmare, a bad one, and Draco has no idea what to do.

This isn't the first nightmare he witnesses, not even Harry's first nightmare, but all he can think of is how desperately he wants to help and how utterly useless he is, hopelessly unqualified, just sitting here and _watching_. Harry is suffering and Draco wants to make it stop more than anything else, but he can hardly string together a coherent thought, let alone decide on how to handle this delicate situation. Whatever he does, it could end up being the entirely wrong thing and make everything a thousand times worse.

Harry whimpers again, a hurt little sound, and Draco can't stay away anymore. He needs to at least try, needs to touch and remind Harry he is not alone.

Draco reaches out, prepared to pull back immediately should it turn out to be the wrong thing, but Harry barely reacts to the hand on his neck, making a high noise that could be vaguely grateful, but just as easily have nothing to do with Draco at all.

Heart beating fast in his chest, watching for a reaction, Draco carefully smooths his hand over Harry's shoulder, down his spine in a slow stroke. Harry still doesn't react much, but Draco doesn't know what else to do, so he starts again, sliding his hand down from Harry's neck to the small of his back, smoothing out the little sobs like waves. It's nice, touching Harry like this, would be better if he weren't currently unconscious and terrified, but that just means that Draco has to try harder to calm him.

Draco’s mother used to sing to him, when he was sick or didn't want to go to sleep, winding her fingers through the curls of his hair (she always liked them, unlike his father who used to frown and slick them back with a charm until Draco was old enough to do it himself). He’d never felt closer to his mother than in those nights, forming a bond fortified by the soft glow of candles around them, away from the people they had to be at day. It makes for treasured memories; memories Draco wants to share.

Deciding that Harry's lack of protest is as good a sign as he's likely to get, Draco slides his hand up into Harry's hair and moves closer to him, hugging him against his chest. And yes, this is so much better then petting his back. This feels _right_.

Harry is warm in his arms, latching onto him and seeking skin-to-skin contact, pressing his face into Draco's neck instead of the pillow. It affects Draco's ability to focus on the melody quite a bit, their close proximity, how he appears to actually be _helping_ Harry, warding off the bad memories and feeding Harry his fond ones instead.

Draco could easily spend all night like this, keeping Harry close with one hand in his hair, the other rubbing circles over his back, singing songs half remembered from his childhood, guarding Harry in his sleep. It's a good thing Harry can't hear him. It’s an exceptionally sappy thought and Draco has an unfortunate predilection to sharing those, whispering them between the verses.

* * *

Harry looks dead on his feet. It’s not as bad as it could be after his night plagued by bad dreams, but he is far from his usual self. His eyes are dull, glazed over, the spark smothered by shadows.

Draco hates it, hates seeing Harry struggle like this. He expected it of course. Harry is always drained after his nightmares but being forced to only watch as he suffers through the day is a hereto unknown torture. Harry’s so-called _friends_ are utterly useless, casting concerned glances and leading him around by his arm to make sure he doesn’t get lost, but they might as well do nothing. It’s appalling how little they take care of Harry, too concerned with themselves and their classes to do anything that would actually help. Draco has seen enough. If _they_ won’t help Harry, _he_ will.

Getting some strong coffee — disgusting, Harry usually has better taste but something about the brew helps when he is like this — and sugary-sweet pastries has always been stunningly easy for Draco, considering the house elves (understandably) don't like him. All he has to do is mention the fact that they’re for _Harry_ and the elves fall over themselves to stuff as many pastries as possible onto a plate, artfully arranging wonky towers, threatening Draco with over salted meals should he drop – or worse, _eat_ – one of them before they reach Harry.

“You look like something a Hippogriff spit out.” 

Harry doesn’t even react, neither with an insult of his own nor with an exasperated eye-roll or a tired smile. He just stares blankly at Draco, as if he doesn’t understand what he is doing here. Draco glares at Granger and Weasley, both watching him with equally dumbfounded and suspicious expressions, both doing nothing. They’re lucky the terrible smell of the coffee wakes Harry enough to make a needy sound, reminding Draco of his priorities. Harry first, murdering his friends and finding better ones second.

Harry greedily accepts the mug Draco presses into his hands, downing huge gulps of the brew without hesitation. Draco winces as he imagines how it must burn, but this is the most alive he has seen Harry all day. Draco will take what he can.

The pastries are a little harder to sell, Harry unwilling to part with the mug, refusing to let go with even just one hand to hold a pastry. It requires patience and some coaxing, stoically ignoring the, by now, very worried friends gathering around them. Draco doesn’t have the time to tell them to mind their own business and no intention of explaining to them what he is doing. They’ve already proved themselves to not be trustworthy with that kind of knowledge.

Draco doesn’t think he will be tolerated here much longer. It’s a miracle they let him stay as long as they did. So, Harry almost done with the first pastry and a whole plate full of more, Draco sneaks away. He would love to stay there, make sure Harry eats enough to get out of this black hole, take care of Harry like he deserves, but right now no on here is willing to let him. He best go before someone starts a fight. This isn’t exactly the time to tempt dumb-witted Gryffindors.

* * *

“I swear to Merlin, Potter, if I wake up freezing again because you hogged the blanket, you sleep on the floor tomorrow.” 

Draco might not look very threatening in his pyjamas and fuzzy socks, but he firmly believes that 'intimidating' is foremost a state of mind, so he glares at Harry as if there _aren't_ snitches of all colours on his shirt. It doesn’t work, Harry only looking vaguely amused and not like he is going to share the — rather huge, definitely enough for two people — blanket. Selfish twat.

“It's still _my_ bed, if anyone is sleeping on the floor it's going to be you.” That is incredibly rude. Very true, but also not at all in the spirit of hospitality. Harry only laughs as Draco tells him that. It's not surprising, Harry has never cared much about manners.

“Fine, be that way. But don't think that means you won.” Draco gives Harry a moment to understand what he said, waiting for the realisation to show on his face, before he slips under the blanket and ends up almost in Harry's lap. 

Harry makes an endearing strangled noise, backing away as far as possible with Draco practically clinging to him and the blanket wrapped around them both. To Draco’s satisfaction, that really isn’t far at all.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” 

This is more fun than Draco expected, watching Harry squirm, caught between accepting his fate and doing something drastic to escape and make Draco change his plans. Whatever _that_ would even be, Draco is quite set on seeing this through. Ever since he held Harry through his nightmare, he is acutely aware of how much he misses Harry, misses touching and holding him, misses the intimacy of it. He wants it back.

Now, Draco is aware he can be selfish —downright cruel in the pursuit of his desires, he has been informed— but he is not selfish enough to wish Harry more nightmares just so Draco may awkwardly comfort him again. Besides, it really _is_ getting tiresome to wake up freezing because Harry stole the blanket again. So it’s not even like Draco is lying.

“I thought I was very clear. You insist on pulling the blanket all around you and I don’t intend to freeze to death in my sleep. The obvious solution is that you simply have to wrap the blanket around both of us.” Draco doesn’t explain how this is only one of his motivations and he is mostly interested in the inevitable cuddling. Harry will either figure it out on his own or he won’t, but if Draco could simply _ask_ for what he wants, he wouldn’t have needed to come up with this entire ruse of Blaise locking him out in the first place. Besides, it worked well enough so far.

Harry doesn’t give any indication on whether or not he understood the true goal here, just considers Draco like he is trying to translate ancient runes or a particular complex potion. Perhaps that answers the question of Harry’s insight, he must at least suspect something. He still doesn’t push Draco away though, which is definitely a good sign.

“Alright then, but you better keep those ice cubes you call feet away from me.” Draco will do no such thing and he wisely doesn’t promise anything. Harry doesn't press him, already resigned to serving as heating. Really, it’s his own fault, the man is a furnace! Draco doesn’t understand what he could possibly be needing the blanket for, but Harry can’t do both — be temptingly warm, perfect to snuggle against _and_ steal the only — inferior as it is — substitution the blanket offers.

Draco used to go on in length about how perfect they fit together — Harry with his blood running hot, and Draco perpetually cold. He was right too; they balanced each other out quite nicely.

That’s another thing Draco misses about Harry holding him. The steady warmth slowly soaking deep into his bones and chasing the cold away. He was able to ignore it and push it down, but Draco has been freezing since Harry left.

Not that Harry needs to know any of this. He would only feel guilty, too unsure of who he is outside of the Saviour to realise that he has absolutely no obligations towards Draco. And Draco doesn’t want to have that conversation again, not right now at least. So he leaves the words unsaid, floating between them without any consequence. 

Instead, Draco smirks up at Harry, watches the suspicion creep onto his face, the undercurrent of excitement belied in the twitch of his lips, before he tackles Harry onto his back. He wraps his arms tightly around Harry, holding him close and escaping the looming conversation.

Harry laughs under him, taken by surprise and forgetting to frown at Draco, trying to pry Draco’s hands off of him. If he really _wanted_ , he could be free in a matter of seconds, he is more than strong enough to free himself and Draco has no interest in forcing Harry into anything if he is truly uncomfortable. Thank Merlin he isn’t, laughter trailing off and his pawing hands settling tentatively on Draco’s back. 

Through the layer of clothing, Draco can’t properly feel it, but he knows how warm Harry’s hands are on him, his touch always leaving marks that might not be visible but feel much more real to Draco than a love-bite (not that he has any official experiences with those, it is beyond improper).

Laying here, cocooned in the soft blanket, Harry’s arms around him, holding him close, Draco is quickly pulled into sleep, head resting on Harry’s chest, moving with every breath he takes.

* * *

Draco loves the library. He loves the unending number of books, the secret corners hidden away deep inside its maze, the wide field of knowledge from the expected subjects over odd facts and interesting titbits to obscure philosophy. The mandatory quiet containing everything might be even better. Half of the time Draco is here, he’s looking for a place to escape to, a book to take him far away for a moment, the silence giving him space to think beyond his immediate concerns, room to just exist without needing to have an opinion or react. 

The library is his sanctuary.

Draco glares at the table of giggling girls, not even pretending to read, checking out some poor sod he can't see behind a bookshelf. Draco doesn't care who they’re drooling over, he only wishes they would be more discreet about it, either keeping their voices down or casting a simple _Muffliato_. Honestly, one should think they’d had an interest in being quiet, the object of their affection presumably not someone they want to overhear them. But either they really don't care, or they’re exceptionally stupid. In any case, they just told the entire library how hot the bloke looks in his Quidditch gear.

Draco’s had enough. It's more than he needed to know and definitely not the kind of talk he's willing to tolerate in his sanctuary. But glare as he might, he goes utterly unnoticed. Time for plan B then: get mystery bloke out of here and watch triumphantly as his admirers follow.

It's a solid plan. Draco’s gotten rather good at scaring people out of the library over the years. There is absolutely nothing that could go wrong. Until Draco catches a flash of green eyes and all desire to make the bloke leave vanishes. Harry is pretty much the only thing that can make the library better. Draco would be a fool to throw him out.

Harry’s almost built a wall of books between himself and his fans, the grip on his quill too tight and the parchment he’s scowling at mostly empty. He’s not comfortable at all, suffering even more than Draco from the inane chatter. He is also alone, which is unusual, but explains how the situation is not taken care of yet. It's usually Granger or Weasley who makes sure Harry is left unbothered. Harry himself is basically useless at dealing with self-appointed friends or people who just _want to thank him_.

It's heart-breaking. Harry has no problem standing up for anyone else if he thinks they need support or are treated unjust, but when it comes to himself he is unable to draw the lines he absolutely needs to draw. Harry gives and gives and _gives_ with a reckless abandon that will leave him with nothing left if no one stops him. Someone really needs to teach Harry a thing or two about the importance of self-preservation and personal boundaries.

Luckily for him, Draco knows quite a lot about dealing with unwanted attention. Even more lucky, Draco has decided to take pity on him.

Quickly deciding that he should get his things first — more books to add to the wall, his bag not left unprotected any longer, still a second chance at finishing his essay — Draco comes back just in time to see one of the girls standing up, fussing with her clothes and running a hand through her hair, glancing in Harry's direction. Draco can only imagine the catastrophe _that_ would be, fumbling attempts to charm the, by now, fully panicking Saviour into whatever it is she wants from Harry. Probably nothing more than a short stay in _The_ _Prophet_ and a night she can tell her friends and grandchildren about. Nothing Harry has any interest in. 

Draco has no intention of watching the disaster unfold, breezing past as he casts a discreet jinx. She won't be bothering Harry today, not while Draco has anything to say about it.

“Finally decided to actually do some work this year, Potter?” 

Harry's entire face lights up as Draco sits down beside him, empty parchment forgotten as he latches on to Draco — metaphorically, sadly.

“We can't all rely on such a charming personality as yours, Malfoy.” Consciously done or not, Harry speaks loud enough to be heard by the gaggle of girls, looking scandalised and hanging on to every word. Draco throws them a triumphant smirk.

“Poor you, doomed to a life of hard work and boredom because of your tediously _good_ personality. Fear not, for I am now here to brighten your day.” 

It makes Harry laugh, the real one that Draco’s missed more than is fair, transforming Harry’s face and affecting everyone around.

Well, usually it would. But since it's _Draco_ — who not only stole his would-be-flirt’s chair, but also Harry's attention — he is being glared at instead. Draco glares right back, careful that Harry won't notice. He doesn't need invasive people and their petty fights in his life. Draco can ward them off without Harry having to think about them further. 

He summons every inch of dark intimidation that he is capable of, puts on the mask he always despised – the one that kept him alive in a house full of easily bored Death Eaters. It has the desired effect, the girls flinching and growing pale, suddenly _very_ aware of who Draco is.

Draco loathes it, loathes that he will never be free of this stain, neither in the eyes of society nor in his soul. Since that is who he is now though, and since he is doing it for Harry, he might as well lean into it.

Harry, blissfully unaware of Draco's little crisis, rambles on about whatever he was working on, pointing out passages in the text. Draco really should have paid attention. He can probably stop glaring now anyway. The girls should have gotten the message loud and clear. Draco would much rather focus on Harry.

Turns out they’re either exceptionally stubborn or absurdly stupid, but apparently they didn’t get the message. They don't leave, don't even try to be more subtle in their pursuit. Although, that one might be Draco's fault. He doubts the forward one would have stumbled over her own feet had he not helpfully tied her shoelaces for her. She doesn't look too grateful, muffled snickering all around her and any chance for the elegant, seductive move she no doubt meant to make on Harry are gone. Draco winks at her.

“You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?” Harry just barely smothers his laugh, his thanks unspoken.

“Whatever could you mean?” Draco watches them leave, making sure they _are_ actually leaving and won't bother Harry anymore.

Harry doesn't answer him, just smiles his achingly familiar, fond smile. He’s done this increasingly often lately, making Draco's heart stutter every time.

“Why are you here alone anyway? Where are Granger and Weasel?” 

Harry scowls at him for that, like Draco knew he would. Draco is not disappointed to see the lovely smile vanishing, he's _not._

“Maybe I _wanted_ to be alone, have some peace and quiet. Just ... some _space_ , I need space. Ron and 'Mione don't understand, I would have thought you at least would.” 

Oh. That hurts. Draco should have known better than coming here. Harry always needed time to let go, to be free of everything for a while. And Draco used to be welcome during those moments, actively requested even. Obviously, he isn't anymore. Now that Draco is already invading Harry's nights, likely the only time Harry gets to himself, he needs to find it elsewhere. Only for Draco to barge in and do it again.

“Sorry. Of course. That is … fine, totally acceptable. I’ll leave.” 

It hurts more than it logically should. It’s not like Harry _rejected_ him, merely requested some space. There is no reason to be this upset.

“No, that’s not what I —” 

Draco doesn’t want to hear it. Harry already told him in no uncertain terms that he wants to be alone. Draco won’t let him sacrifice that to satisfy his own selfish feelings. He does quite enough of that already.

“It’s alright, really, I had completely forgotten that I wanted to—” 

Fortunately, Harry interrupts him. Draco could never lie convincingly when put on the spot — it drove his father near madness.

“I _want_ you to stay, Draco.” 

Draco stops, unfinished excuse forgotten, the entire world boiled down to Harry’s hand around his wrist. Harry’s eyes pleading with him, just _Harry_. Harry wants him to stay.

Well, if that’s what he wants, who is Draco to deny him?

* * *

Draco wakes up because he is cold. He never used to sleep particularly hard — the all-consuming, constant fear for his life during the war didn’t help much with that. It’s only been with Harry curled up next to him that he even stands a chance of getting a decent night’s sleep. Draco decided early on not to think too closely on the _why_. It’s fairly obvious and vaguely scary, a whole epiphany that he has been carefully toeing around.

Considering all this, bleary and more asleep than not, it doesn’t make sense that Draco should wake up in this unpleasant cold. 

Before Draco can get much further than this, something wraps around him, warm and soft, smelling familiar. It’s nice, but not what he needs. This won’t do. Forcing his eyes open, the first thing Draco sees is the empty spot next to him, where Harry should be.

Oh, well, that at least explains some things. 

It takes another moment for understanding to hit Draco. 

Harry is gone. 

Sitting up in panic-induced energy, Draco tries to assess the situation.

Harry is nowhere to be seen. Draco hasn’t been awake long, so Harry can’t have been gone long either. Did Harry tuck him in or did he imagine that? 

Not important, he needs to find the git before he can get too far.

Climbing out of bed, cursing at the violent cold, Draco sets about finding Harry. If Harry can’t be trusted alone during the day, it’s ten times more dangerous during the night. Draco should know — not only does he face similar demons, but he saw it often enough. Harry is prone to walking through the entire castle, visiting every single spot someone died, taking a moment to mourn them and blame himself for their death. It undoes all Draco’s hard work to cure Harry of his irrational guilt, leaving him in a terrible low not even coffee can fix.

Draco is so focused on intercepting Harry on his walk of martyrdom that he almost doesn’t see him, sitting in the common room, staring at the dying fire. There’s a dry comment about symbolism and being overly dramatic to be found here, but Draco is too relieved to care. Harry looks better than he feared. Still worrisome though.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” 

Harry doesn’t react beyond a slight flinch, probably not expecting anyone to disturb him for some hours yet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m fine, you can go back to sleep.” 

Right, that’s not happening. Draco sits down next to Harry, leaving enough space so he won’t feel crowded, but close enough to lean on, if he wants to. It’s always hard to tell with Harry, the best comfort depending on where the pain stems from, well concealed under layers of emotionally constipated snark. He must be worn down to the bones, showing his hurt so freely and accepting Draco’s offer of support, practically falling onto him.

“Could you— only if you want to of course, but could you … would you sing to me, please?” 

It's the last thing Draco expected. For one, he was fully prepared to coax Harry out of brooding silence. Second, the request itself surprises him.

He’s been singing to Harry rather often lately, but he always thought Harry was already _asleep_ at that point. Draco likes singing for him, carding fingers through his thick hair, smoothing out the tiny frowns on his face. It’d become something of a tradition for him, something that grounds him and connects him not only with Harry but also with his mother. It’s quite a different matter if Harry has been _aware_ of it.

“Sorry, it’s stupid, forget I asked.” Harry is pulling away, Draco already feeling the cold and the ache of hurting Harry — _again_ , is he even capable of doing anything else these days? He just had to choose _now_ to be embarrassed of his singing. As if Harry isn’t already fragile enough, Draco just absolutely has to go and make Harry doubt himself as well.

Not trusting himself not to say the wrong thing and make it worse, Draco silently pulls Harry back against his chest, arranging them to lay comfortably in a weird, half-sprawled position, stretched out over the couch. Harry is tense for a few agonising heartbeats, enough for Draco to question every decision he ever made that led them here, when Harry goes boneless in his arms.

Singing for Harry when he is not asleep — which he apparently never was, but since Draco didn’t know that, his point still stands — is very different. Harry hums along, nudges his head up against Draco’s hand when it stills for too long, requests his favourites, or for specifically verses to be repeated. Draco liked singing to an unresponsive Harry, but this is miles better.

Harry slowly falls asleep on him, drifting off and growing quiet. It’s a good thing, obviously, even if it means Harry is not participating anymore. It’s early morning by now and Harry does need his sleep — desperately so.

The chances of Draco going back to sleep are extremely low, not after Harry trusted him to keep him safe in his sleep, choosing the worst place he could have for it. The common room is not exactly private, it being a _common room_ , but Draco will make sure no one dares to disturb Harry until they absolutely have to leave for their first class. Depending on which class that is, maybe not even then.

It’s not long before the few crazy morning people start trickling in, up early for some exercise before the day starts, reviewing their coursework for the day, sitting half-asleep in the armchairs that swallow one whole as they nurse their morning tea. They’re all glared into silence by Draco, none of them reckless enough to question him and wisely restricting themselves to confused looks every now and then.

The only moment Draco deems potentially dangerous for Harry’s sleep is when Granger and Weasley come down, frantically looking through the room until Granger's eyes land on Harry. She immediately pulls Weasley towards them. They have probably been searching for Harry, worried when he wasn’t in bed, and now that they’ve found him sleeping on Draco they are worried and determined to take him away, if Granger’s grimace is anything to go by. Draco’s arms tighten around Harry, pull him closer against his chest, glaring at them over Harry’s head. 

He doesn’t want to let go of Harry, surrender him to people who might mean well but either don’t prioritise him or plain don’t know how to take care of him correctly. Draco has seen what happens when he leaves them in charge of Harry. There is no way that he’ll hand Harry over to them. Draco only hopes they realise this and leave quietly instead of making a scene that’s sure to wake Harry. Looking at Granger, scowling and clenching her jaw, the wild locks around her face and the glint in her eyes making her look vicious, Draco doesn’t think it’s likely.

Just before Granger is in shouting range — more accurately speak-loudly-and-angrily-and-be-heard-by-the-entire-room-without-looking-like-a-crazy-person range — Weasley pulls her away, holding her by the elbow as he leads her in the opposite direction. Granger is fuming, not at all pleased with being shepherded around like this. Weasley endures her tirade with a stoic face and unrelenting grip. He’s a good man, Weasley; not that Draco would ever admit that.

Draco watches as the room slowly empties, people leaving for breakfast or lingering until they need to head to Charms. He’s decided against waking Harry for that. He’ll get Theo’s notes later and they can both work through them together. 

For now it’s more important that Harry sleeps.

* * *

“Absolutely not.” Draco doesn’t know what Harry doesn’t understand about the concept of ‘no’, but he is running out of ideas on how to phrase it.

“It will be great! There will be lots of alcohol and good music, it’s just a bit of fun. And god do you need some fun. Come on Malfoy, step out of isolation for _once_.” 

Draco resents almost every word in that sentence, greatly helped by the fact that this is the fifth time Harry’s tried to convince him to agree to the stupid party.

“You wouldn’t know good music if you heard it, so forgive me if don’t trust your judgement. Why don’t you just go alone?” 

Something twists and curls bitterly in Draco at the thought of Harry cancelling their study session – which Draco should probably find a new name for, because strictly speaking, they only actually _study_ about half of the time; perhaps ‘library lounges’ would be more appropriate — to spend the evening getting drunk with the idiots they already have to share a living space with. 

But if it means Harry will stop badgering him about this, Draco will take it.

“Because it would be better with you there. Do you really need me to spell it out? I _want_ you there, Draco. Is that so hard to believe?” 

It is, actually. Slytherins don’t get invited to parties of other houses, and while that might have changed since the eighth years all live together, Draco specifically is not really talked to. Mostly that is his doing, of course. He is the one stupid enough to let himself be marked instead of getting out while he still could, and he is the one glaring and being unsociable. Being feared is better than being insulted.

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

And now here Harry stands, inviting him to a party. _Wanting_ him at the party.

“Fine, if it will stop your whinging.” 

Harry beams at him. Draco is doomed.

* * *

As Harry promised, there is indeed lots of alcohol. Draco doesn't even want to know _how_ they got their hands on it, let alone how they smuggled it past McGonagall and into Hogwarts. He is immensely grateful, no matter how it was procured. Everyone is at least a little bit tipsy, some well past tipsy, and as Draco predicted, the music is terrible. Harry doesn’t notice, dancing with Weasley and Granger like the carefree teenager he was never allowed to be. Draco could happily watch him for hours.

“I will graciously accept your thanks for shacking you up with wonder boy.” 

_This_ is exactly why Draco wanted to avoid the party. Drunk Blaise can be a pest, but _smug_ drunk Blaise needs to be locked into a secluded room until sober. For his own good. Blaise has no concept of propriety, blurting out secrets that aren’t even his to tell, loud and unconcerned with who might be listening, causing even more drama than sober Blaise does while not looking half as good. 

“Would you keep it down? Besides, it’s not like that and you know it.” 

That was the wrong thing to say. Blaise smirks, devilish and calculating and crazy. Not a good combination on a normal person, and Blaise strives to defy 'normal' whenever possible. Disregarding that, things never go well for Draco when one of his friends wears that expression. 

“If I may have your attention!” Draco’s heart stops as Blaise climbs unto a table, clinging glasses together and making himself the centre of attention distressingly fast. Draco needs to get out of here. “I think it’s past time we play a little game. How about … Spin the Bottle!”

The room cheers. Draco feels sick. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s the plan here. Drunk Blaise also isn’t very good at subtlety and scheming. All of them have at least once nudged the bottle along just a tiny bit to land on their desired partner, and Blaise in particular has perfected the art of setting up others via seemingly innocuous games of Spin the Bottle. As much as Draco wants to kiss Harry again, he does _not_ want an audience for it.

Unfortunately, the time for discreet disappearances is past. Pansy’s latched onto his arm, forcing him down into the growing circle between her and Greg. This sort of behaviour is why Theo is his favourite — not that they seem to mind, beaming at Draco when he says as much. Theo, at least, was smart enough to stay away, though he would probably enjoy Draco’s misery just as much as these insidious worms. He’d at least be more subtle about it, which is the best Draco can hope for here.

Draco is still frantically looking for a last-second escape — contemplates pleading a headache, that’s how close to despair he is — when Pansy stabs her claws into his arm. “Potter’s turn next, give us a show, dear.”

If Draco was less nervous at the sudden arrival of the inevitable, and if it wouldn’t cost him most of his arm, he would shove Pansy off for that comment alone. Instead he settles for ignoring her, hoping it comes across as cold and dignified and not petrified by nerves. Pansy delighted chuckle tells him he is failing spectacularly.

“Get it together. You are _Draco Malfoy_ and you will _not_ run away from the love of your life because you are scared. You are better than that.” Greg doesn’t talk much anymore, not since they lost Vince, so to hear him speak is always an unexpected pleasure. Greg has always been kind and uncompromisingly supportive. Pansy calls him sweet, lacking the derision she would usually say it with and only a fool would miss the fondness in her tone. Greg’s thoughts are valued highly, made more precious by their rarity.

Draco would like to discuss some of the things he said with Greg, because he has serious doubts on one or two points, but he barely has time for a grateful smile before the room falls silent. A quick glance confirms Harry’s spun the bottle, Blaise is still as skilled as ever, and the bottle is pointing straight at Draco. Merlin save him.

Harry sits frozen, eyes wide, staring at Draco. Draco stares back, incapable of doing anything else.

He is Draco Malfoy. He will _not_ flee. He is better than that — apparently.

Tension builds with every second as neither of them move.

Draco refuses to be the first. This was not _his_ idea, _he_ wasn’t even the one to spin the bottle. Tradition dictates that the one spinning is the one who makes the move, those are the rules.

But Harry _isn't_ moving and — what if he doesn’t _want_ to? Draco thought kissing Harry in front of an audience was bad, but _forcing_ a kiss onto him is worse and how did he not think of this sooner, he should —

“Just kiss him already, mate. We all know you want to.” Weasley shoves Harry, making him stumble into the middle of the circle and finally breaking the stalemate. Not that Draco cares much about anyone else in the room, not now that Harry is moving towards him, after Weasley — and he would know, wouldn’t he — said Harry _wants_ to kiss him.

After watching Harry approach for ages, he’s suddenly there, taking too long and going too fast all at once, so close Draco can count the specks of gold in his eyes, see his slightly chapped lips. Draco almost knows this face better than his own, has seen Harry’s eyes flutter in ecstasy, knows how these lips can be impossibly soft or full of bruising force. Has clung to this hair like a lifeline and bitten kisses into that jaw. 

They’ve done this so many times, kissed with slowly built anticipation, quick pecks in passing, kisses for distraction and just because, sweet and soft and devouring and possessive. Draco loves kissing Harry, each and every facet of it.

What Draco ends up getting now though, well, he’s a little disappointed. First off, it doesn’t even count as a kiss. He refuses to call it that. It’s the kind of brushing contact you give to the aunt you don’t like but have to kiss anyway because it’s tradition, and your father would not be pleased if he heard — and he _would_ hear it — of your disregard and subsequent insult.

Second, how dare Harry back out like this? When did he become such a coward? Wasn’t Draco worth a little courage?

His mother was right. If you want something done, do it yourself. 

Before Harry can go far, already crawling away as quickly as he can, Draco grabs his head and pulls him in again. The bottle promised them a kiss and Draco will make sure they get one.

Harry is wonderfully pliant under him, whether from surprise or on purpose, Draco doesn’t know, but as much as he loves it — Harry’s lips soft, his breath hitching, needy little whimpers as he lets Draco do whatever he wants and begs for more — it’s not what he wants right now.

Draco tugs on Harry’s hair quite viciously, not intending to please but to spur Harry into action, to make him hiss and try to take control over the kiss. It works a little _too_ well, Harry growling against him, pushing him back and climbing over him, pushing him, claiming his lips again before Draco has a chance to process the sudden change in position. All he knows is Harry’s mouth on him, hot and demanding, coaxing noises Draco would never admit to making, out of him. He clings to that, to Harry, tethered to reality by the hands still in his hair, Harry’s hands trailing down, taking hold of Draco’s jaw to angle him however he wants.

“Get a room!” 

Harry growls again, displeased this time, and pulls away. Draco absolutely does _not_ whimper at the loss. At least the view it affords him is nice; Harry flushed, lips red and tempting, just waiting for Draco to pull him down again and bite at them some more.

“We _have_ a room. You can leave if you don’t like it.” Harry is still growling, leaning over Draco as if shielding him, talking to — who _is_ hetalking to?

Reality comes crashing down on Draco. 

Their audience, Blaise‘s genius idea, their break-up, the constant pain of being near Harry, wanting him so badly it burned, but not daring to touch. 

Right. Well, that rather ruined the mood for Draco.

It’s all too much, people talking around them about what is none of their business, speculating and predicting all kinds of things (from wedding bells to gruesome endings), Blaise and Ron arguing over who is more relieved that they finally got it together, Harry being so close and yet completely out of Draco’s reach — that _kiss_. 

Draco needs to get out of here.

“Harry.” He gets Harry's attention immediately, looking down at him, Harry’s face morphing from smug satisfaction to concern. “Let me go.”

Harry doesn’t move, still pining him to the ground, studying his face. Is he really going to make him do this here? Isn’t it enough that he stole Draco’s heart and changed his entire world? Does Draco really have to confront his deep-rooted issues and insecurities in a room full of people who would love to see him break? Does Harry hate him that much?

“Just, come back to me, Draco. Don’t stay away for too long. Please.” The words are whispered into his ears, cruelly taunting. After all, Draco never really left, did he? 

Then Harry is gone, moving away, leaving Draco cold and alone and free to do whatever he wants. Just as Draco requested. 

Why does it feel so wrong?

* * *

Draco doesn’t remember much about how he got here. He practically fled from the party, forgetting all about dignity and pace, stairs leading him as far away as they could, as high as possible. 

Draco hasn’t been to the Astronomy Tower since That Day, scared of the memories of who he was. Standing here now, searching the stars for answers they won’t reveal to him, Draco hasn’t changed very much from the terrified boy that stood here and couldn’t kill a man. The boy that failed. Draco has never done anything but, failing every expectation his father had of him, failing his mother in his stubborn refusal to take her advice and follow his own path, failing Harry and their relationship, the life they could have had.

The last one hurts the most. Harry went through so much, had to put up with so much sorrow and suffering and still remained unbearably _good_. He deserved better than Draco. Someone who could announce their love to the world and kiss him without caring if it landed a headline in _The_ _Prophet_. Someone who wasn’t broken.

So close to the stars, and yet, so far away.

“You didn’t come back. I thought I might find you here.” 

Draco isn’t even surprised at Harry’s sudden appearance. He always manages to find Draco at his lowest.

“How do you keep doing this?” It’s nothing but an idle thought, hardly relevant right now but safer by far than any of the other thoughts swirling in Draco’s mind.

“My father passed a magical map of Hogwarts on to me. It shows everyone inside the castle at their exact positions at any time.” Harry is dead serious as he says it, coming to stand next to Draco under the stars.

“A likely story.” 

Harry doesn’t reply and Draco doesn’t dare looking at him. He is no state to deal with how much he _wants_ , having Harry close enough to touch is temptation enough without adding the visual and making it oppressive. But he doesn’t have to look to know Harry is smiling, the expression carved into his memory.

They stay like this, silence surrounding them like a blanket. Draco wishes they would never have to move, that time could just stop, keep them forever in this moment.

Until Harry starts to fidget, breaking the moment. Draco suppresses a sigh, waits for him to say what he came to say.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked. I know it was part of the game and all but if I’d known you didn’t want to I would have —” Harry is rambling, nervous and running a mile a minute, giving Draco a headache.

“ _What_ are you talking about?” Draco still doesn’t turn to look at him, even though the abrupt silence leaves him with little to go on as far as facial expressions go. He wishes he could just glance to see it, just a moment, wishes the consequences weren't so dire.

“I kissed you.” The way Harry says it, bland and matter of fact, he might as well be talking about the weather. Although, Draco has certainly heard him be more passionate about thunderstorms than he sounds now. It’s a little insulting. “Ikissed you and then you ran away and I didn’t ask and I’m sorry —”

“Potter.” This time Draco _does_ turn, acting without thinking, the desire too strong to deny anymore. Besides, this is important. He needs Harry to understand this. “ _I_ kissed _you_. Rest assured that the kiss was completely consensual. You can stop worrying.”

Harry looks relieved to hear that, the creases of his face smoothing into a smile. Draco couldn't look away if he tried.

“Not into exhibitionism, then?” Harry smirks, hoping to shift the awkward mood, but only succeeding in reminding Draco of how many people saw. People like to talk. It will only be a matter of time before his father hears about this. Draco already dreads _that_ conversation.

“I’m really looking forward to word of this reaching my father, thanks for asking.” 

Harry flinches and Draco immediately feels bad. He’s being unfair, he knows that. He half expects Harry to call him out on it, to throw something ugly back at him, point out that this, this right here, is the reason Draco will never be good enough. He expects Harry to leave, for good this time.

Draco resolutely ignores the familiar voice repeating old taunts, still as painful as the first time he heard them. _Harry is going to leave. It’s better that way, far away from Draco. If Draco were a better man, he would have sent Harry on his way long ago._ They’re becoming harder and harder to drown out and ignore.

Harry does none of these things. Usually Draco loves that about him, always defying people’s expectations. But right now it feels like prolonging the inevitable to make it hurt more. No matter the motivation, Harry stands here, with Draco, silent again as they look up into the sky. Draco wonders what it is Harry sees, whether he, too, sees all the lives Draco’s denied them.

“I apologise, it’s not your fault.” 

Draco has never been good at apologising. It was not exactly something his father taught him. He feels dreadfully incompetent, the words insufficient. He hopes Harry will understand the sincerity behind them. Even though he hasn’t even acknowledged having heard him. Draco is glad for it. It would only make an already uncomfortable situation worse.

Standing here in the unspoken understanding that something needs to change, it feels like the end. Draco didn't realise how very much Harry didn’t end things between them until this moment. This is a choice, impossible and with consequences that could not possibly be gauged. 

It’s Draco’s choice to make.

It seems incredibly simple, high up in the night — his father or Harry. 

Easy. If he is entirely honest — and he tries not to be, preferring not to know most of the time — Draco already knows what he _wants_ to choose. He would choose Harry. He would choose the unending possibilities contained in their stars, guided by nothing but their desires. Dancing where before he hardly dared to walk. 

In comparison, the path his father’s set out for him loses what little appeal it held. Dull, predictable and filled with burden after burden.

Draco’s never felt like he had to choose before. It wasn’t even a question, whether he would follow his father or not. It’s all he’s ever done, all he has ever known. Until now, that is. Harry still waiting for him, letting him make his decision.

“I’m scared.” The realisation hits Draco with startling clarity. That is what it boils down to. Fear. He is afraid of staying and ending like his father, a life full of wrong choices, a spouse that might have loved him, once, a child he doesn’t even know. But at least there is a certainty here, the way clear and trotted out by thousands of miserable souls before him. It’s safe, uncomplicated. He would only have to go along with things, marry whatever girl his father deemed the most suited, dedicate his life to enlarging the family fortune and cultivating friends judged on what they could do for him, how useful they would be.

Draco doesn’t know what awaits him outside that path. Harry, obviously. But would he stay? How long until he grows bored, realises he doesn’t love Draco as much as he thought, that Draco is useless and more of a burden better left behind than a partner? What would they even _do_ , after Hogwarts? How could his friends possibly remain his friends after he’s disgraced himself like this? How bad would his father’s wrath be? How far would it reach? Would he ever see his mother again?

There is absolutely no certainty in straying from what’s lain out for him. Draco has no real qualifications, no means of his own, nothing he can be sure of beside himself. And Draco’s learnt a lot about himself in the past few years. It doesn’t inspire confidence. Draco doesn’t stand a chance of surviving on his own.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” 

There is conviction in Harry’s voice. Blind faith that would seem naive coming from anyone else. An answer to Draco’s quickly spiralling fears, the certain he’s desperately searched for.

He doesn’t have to do this alone. Harry would be there. It’s a promise, he knows, and Harry keeps his promises. It’s something to hold to. A constant in a future that seems ever changing. In the end, isn’t Harry all he wanted anyway? Does the rest of it even matter if they have each other?

Draco doesn’t know. He can’t answer any of his millions of questions, and rather suspects Harry can’t either. But Harry is _here,_ offering all he has, and Draco made his choice long ago. 

He takes Harry’s hand.

* * *

“Cheer up, love, this is hardly the time to be grumpy. We _graduated_. You with a scarily high number of NEWTs if I may remind you. The entire world is ours right now.” 

Harry’s smiles had always been contagious, and looking at him practically bouncing in excitement, extraordinarily handsome in his dress robes, Draco can’t help answering with one of his own. Besides, Harry is right. The entire world lays before them, waiting for them to leave their marks. Not a time to be anything but smugly happy.

It’s a big celebration. Everyone who matters is there to see them receive their hard earned NEWTs: their friends, the Weasleys, his mother — it shouldn’t matter that Draco’s father didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse for his absence. Seeing him would probably have soured the mood anyway. Harry said that, and at the time, Draco found himself agreeing. But now there is an inconsequential part of him that wonders, still straining for his father’s approval at least, if not his affection.

Of course, Draco had known it could only be this way, that his father would disown him and go on denying his existence, but nothing in the world could have prepared him for it actually happening. In many ways, it’s a blessing he’s only received a very formal letter in reaction to his ‘change of lifestyle.’ In other ways, it’s phrases like that echoing in Draco’s mind, taunting him even after burning them. The readiness with which he was dropped, perhaps worse than his father’s face processing that Draco is happily in a relationship with a man, and has no intention of ending things nor keeping it secret ever again.

At least Draco was unobserved when he opened the letter with trembling hands. When he read it over and over because his brain refused to understand, when he screamed and raged against the unfairness of it all. When he broke down crying because he just lost most of what defines him, when Harry had to gather him up in his arms because he was too pathetic to walk on his own. When he spent the entire day clinging to Harry and trying to adjust to his new reality.

Draco thought he was over it by now. By all logic, he should be. He is _happy_ , like he has only ever glimpsed in short moments before.

His friends were more relieved than anything else. Even had bets running on how long it would take him, which in turn brought on some irritation, because Pansy won it all in barely a day. Blaise was very upset. Draco thinks it serves him right. He remembers all too well how thoroughly Blaise humiliated him not once, but _twice_ — and to have the nerve to claim that _he_ was the one who deserves credit for all the emotional labour _Draco_ did to fix this mess.

As predicted, his mother is _delighted_ by his and Harry’s relationship. Surprisingly, out of less strategic reasons than Draco thought. Apparently, the fact that Draco talked about the git constantly and spent even more time _thinking_ about him, mentioning Harry in every letter no matter how little he fit in with the rest of its contents, _somehow_ gave her the impression that he’d been in love with Harry since basically forever. She isn’t wrong, really. Draco just thought he’d hidden it better.

No, Draco has everything he could ask for: Harry, their friends and family, their luggage packed, and the Portkey ready. He might not know where life is taking him, what he wants to do with those NEWTs he’s worked so hard for, or even where they’re going to live, but they’ll figure it out. He and Harry are going to travel and see the world, make grand plans and enjoy their life. They rather deserve a break.

Looking at Harry, standing with his friends, posing for photos taken by a fussing Molly Weasley while he smiles and laughs, Draco knows he made the right choice on that tower.

“Get your lazy arse over here and into the picture, Malfoy!” The way Harry calls him Malfoy is the same way he called him ‘ _love’_ just moments ago, uncaring that _technically_ Malfoy isn’t his name anymore. Whatever Lucius might say, it _is_ Draco’s name. It’s what Harry calls him when he is irritated or teasing, just as much as it’s a reminder of the horrid things Draco went through. The horrid things he was capable of. Now, a name freely chosen and holding no more power over him. It’s damnation and absolution and _his_ , but Draco will never again allow it to dictate his life.

So, he takes pictures next to Harry. He smiles and he laughs, hugging his mother farewell with the promise to send letters from every place they visit. He says goodbye to his friends, ignoring the comments to enjoy their honeymoon, and takes Harry's hand, following him into the beginning of their life together.

  



End file.
